


It's The Little Things

by TiggityTwa



Category: South Park
Genre: Daydreaming, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, Fluff, Freeform, Furniture Shopping, Gay, I don't know how tags work, M/M, Moving In Together, Sentimental, Short One Shot, i wrote this for a mutual like a year ago, kind of a poem that's bad at being a poem, that warm fuzzy feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:31:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13327728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiggityTwa/pseuds/TiggityTwa
Summary: Tweek and Craig have readied the foundation for their new life together. Now to build a home on top of that foundation.





	It's The Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a mutual like a year or so ago and completely forgot about it. I'm still posting it in their honor.  
> Just two dudes looking to furnish their new apartment.

The smell of aging wood and dust-filled cotton hangs thickly in the air. Every time I breathe it feels as though dust bunnies are lazily fucking in the back of my throat.

God.

Tweek looks over at me, face twisted into a question mark, suggesting I should offer judgment on the bit of fabric he's presenting.

"Tweek," I start, "we don't need curtains. The apartment already has blinds." He shoots me a betrayed look, as though I'd just insulted his grandmother, hugging the curtain close to his chest.

"Blinds don't entirely block out the sun, Craig. Or the neighbors' creeping, peeping eyes." He makes a gesture, representing a spider I believe. I'm actually pretty sure blinds complete both of those tasks perfectly fine. Without further comment I turn on my heels and head back to the other end of the store, Tweek's voice echoing behind me,

"C-craig!? Agh! Please? They'll make it look nicer!"

Probably. But curtains would be overkill for the new apartment. Tweek already insisted on paintings and some other stuff to decorate the walls with, at this rate the main room will start looking like a cheap motel lobby. My eyes are set on something of higher necessity. 

It becomes clear that, yes, we do need a Tempur-Cloud Luxe Breeze king size mattress as soon as I’m cascaded in it’s sweet embrace. My eyelids, feeling instantly heavy, drop and colors dance against the black backdrop behind my eyes. As I sink further into the bed, images of the apartment fill the emptiness. Then memories of when Tweek and I were arguing over which district to nest in. The look on his face when I asked him to move in with me. How I talked him into Christening our new home once we get settled.

The mattress dips next to me and my thoughts evaporate. I peek with one eye to see the holder of my affections staring up at the ceiling as he exhales heavily.

“You realize this mattress is, like, five-thousand dollars?”

I close my eyes again, reaching up to rest my head on both hands.

“Yep. We need it.”

“We need a five-thousand dollar mattress but I can’t get forty dollar curtains!?”

“That’s right.”

Sudden weight smacks into my torso, pushing an involuntary ‘oof’ out my throat. Looking down I see Tweek planted face-first against my chest, his hands splayed upward to grasp my face.

“I hate you sometimes.” It was muffled but his harsh retort reverberated through my ribcage.

“Don’t you love that about me, though?”

He just groans in response, squishing my cheeks further until it becomes a series of large circles against my skin. I grasp his wrists and pull him up until he’s practically lying completely on top of me. Only when I lace my fingers through his does he resign himself to lift his head and look me in the eyes. He’s pouting; eyes upturned and bottom lip quivering.

He sure knows how to play me by now, huh?

“C’mere.” I say, cupping the back of his neck and sitting up as much as I can with another person sprawled against me. Thankfully he meets me the rest of the way, reuniting our lips for what must be the twentieth time today. It’s soft and sweet with a semi-bitter taste from the coffee still lingering on his tongue.

As quickly as he came, he pulls away, leaving me unsatisfied and craving a vanilla latte.

“We’re still not buying this bed. There’s no way we can afford it!”

It’s true.

“But, Tweek…”

“What?”

“It’s so comfy.”

Tweek chuckles half-heartedly, sitting up to press himself against the bed frame. I just watch him and the way he moves, the way he slicks back his bangs only to have them fall, returning to their usual spot, sticking up above his forehead. I often study his face whenever I get the chance; the way his doe eyes slope downward, accentuating the length of his nose that ends in a small, upturned hook. His lips, supple and irresistible, just like the rest of him. The way he often holds his own hands, finding different ways to twine his fingers together and ease the slight shake that they have to them.

I could stare at him for hours and never fail to find him beautiful. Ever since we were kids, I had been forced to look at Tweek in a way that made me notice what the guy actually looked like, and he’s breathtaking. I might not have realized right away but boy did I find out.

Jesus.

It’s been eleven years since that day. That day when everybody loved me for reasons I didn’t understand, then hated me for it. It was like a big game and I didn’t know I was a player. Tweek was the same, we seemed to be the only ones who hadn’t read the game description. I don’t remember when I stopped playing. When the game transitioned into reality and I stopped pretending.

“Hey…” Tweek’s voice wipes away the steam in front of my eyes and I can see again. He looks concerned, eyebrows knitted together like an upside-down “v”. I must have been staring.

“Sorry, babe, I was just thinking,” I try to ease his nerves. It seems to have worked, at least a little, his shoulders relax.

“What about?”

I’m not sure if I want to answer that. At least, not here. The thought of Tweek getting emotional in a public setting isn’t a comfortable one.

“Funds,” I say curtly. Tweek side-eyes me, that all-knowing look he gives when he knows I’m withholding top-secret information.

“What were you really thinking?” He seems anxious. It’s not even that important, I don’t want him to worry about the little things all the time. I know it’s hard for him. I just want to talk about it when we get home, where he’ll feel more comfortable and I can gush without limitations.

“I was thinking…” I sit up from the bed and grab Tweek’s hand, “we could use some curtains.”


End file.
